


It's Not Living (If It's Not With You)

by FlyBoy9978



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, College, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-06-02 22:32:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19450804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyBoy9978/pseuds/FlyBoy9978
Summary: Peter never got a chance to tell MJ about his feelings. MJ never got to tell Peter about her own.Then he met Gwen.Time worked the way time always does and they grew apart, barely speaking before graduation and then completely losing touch with one another when it came time to go off to college.Then, time worked the way it always does again.





	1. You Look Like I Need A Drink

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first piece of work I've felt confident enough to post, so I hope you enjoy it. Any constructive criticism is welcome.
> 
> My interpretation of Gwen Stacy and her relationship with Peter is a little unorthodox and not at all how I would probably write the character in any other format, but this is just "silly" fan fiction so I felt like I could play sort of fast and loose with characters.
> 
> I hope to be able to get new chapters out weekly but I don't want to get anyone who actually enjoyed this first chapter's hopes up, so I won't make any promises.

"Oh, I'm sorry. We didn't actually order these."

Peter's eyes followed the server's nod to one of the booths in the back corner as she finished placing a shot glass on the table in front of him. It wasn't exactly a crowded night at Ditko's Tavern, as most of the usual crowd were stuck at home, poring over their notes and textbooks as finals week at ESU was wrapping up, but there were still too many patrons for him to make out exactly who she was motioning towards.

He and Ned had gotten lucky this semester in the most unlucky way possible, with all of their actual exams taking place early in the week. Studying and stressing only lasted from late Thursday night until mid-afternoon on Tuesday, but that meant all of the anxiety was jam-packed into their weekend.

There was enough tribulation for any normal college student. It was a special kind of hell to go through with spider-sense.

"The young lady with her face buried in _Ulysses_ said ‘Happy collective, belated birthdays, losers.'"

The waitress smiled at the two of them and headed back to the bar after setting a third shot down in front of the empty spot next to Ned, who turned and searched in the same direction, now knowing exactly who they were looking for.

"What are you idiots staring at now?"

The fact that he didn't scream at the surprising sound of her voice was both a shock and something that he was incredibly grateful for.

Ned wasn't so lucky.

"Jesus, Leeds, I'd figured it would take a little more than that to make you jump," Michelle chuckled as she slid into the booth next to Ned, setting a nearly finished glass of clear liquid next to the small glass of…actually, Peter wasn't sure what was in the shot glasses sitting in front of them. He was still pretty new to the whole ‘drinking' thing.

"I just, y'know, wasn't really paying attention and didn't realize you were here. I didn't even know you were back in town," Ned was breathing heavily, his hand resting over his rapidly beating heart as he tried to calm his nerves.

"Finals were last week for me, so I got in kind of early on Monday," she picked up her glass and tapped it against the beer in Ned's hand. "Then I saw your status about needing to wind down after a long semester and figured I could join in and we'd all get shitfaced together."

She tipped her head back and finished off her drink, setting the glass down before turning and finally making eye contact with Peter. He could feel his eyes were still wide as hell, still completely shocked to see her.

This was going to be so fucking awkward.

"I can see you're still the good old, quiet dork I remember from high school, Parker," the sarcasm seemed to drip from her words like venom.

"Uhh..."

"Use your words, dork," she slid the small mystery glass in front of him and raised her own. "Maybe try starting out with ‘Hey, MJ, it's so nice to see you. Thank you for the shot. Sorry I didn't get you anything for your birthday.'"

He followed along and picked up his ‘birthday' shot, still unable to make his eyes stop being so wide, but she seemed to ignore that fact as she and Ned met him in the middle and *clinked* them together, tapping them to the table, and downing them, each giving their own reaction to the alcohol.

Ned shuddered in near-disgust.

MJ smacked her lips and stuck out her tongue like it was burning.

Peter was so distracted by how awkward he felt that he completely bypassed the taste and launched into what most people would consider diarrhea of the mouth. Either of them would have noted that he hadn't actually blinked in the past two minutes if they were able to pay better attention.

"Hi, Michelle, it's nice to see you! Thanks for the shot! Sorry I didn't get you anything!"

He couldn't stop himself from speaking as fast as he did and he seemed to be having trouble controlling the volume and inflection (or lack-there-of) of his voice.

The tables had turned now as they stared awkwardly at him, until a late reaction finally kicked in, his eyes closing shut in a wince and his tongue sticking out as a quick "yuck" escaped from his now-frowning lips. Michelle was the first to burst out laughing, followed shortly by Ned.

"What the actual fuck was that?" He quickly chased the shot down with a long drink of beer, chugging the remaining half of the bottle in his hands.

"Does Aunt May know you're using that kind of language, Parker?" She stifled her giggling as she answered his question with her own query. "I can't imagine how she must feel now that college has corrupted her innocent little angel of a nephew."

Ned quickly finished off his own beer and flagged down a server.

"She's actually pretty cool with it all. As long as we're not TOO open about what we get up to, she's happy to hear about us allowing ourselves to try new things and be a little bit irresponsible," he held up his thumb and index finger with a little bit of space between them to emphasize how irresponsible they get. "She even bought us each a box of co—"

"Maybe that's enough information, Ned," Peter briskly interjected as the waitress approached the table. "Hi, can we get two more of whatever cheap beer you have and whatever the lady is having, please and thank you."

"Gin and tonic with lemon and lime, please."

"Go ahead and put it on my tab, Abby," Peter followed up Michelle's order with a quick smile to the server.

He turned back to face the two, the goofy upward curve of his mouth disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared when he made eye contact with her again. Dammit. He was having so much fun before she decided to walk back into his life.

"So, where are your girlfriends at? I would figure Betty and Gwen would want to accompany a pair of lady killers such as yourselves anywhere you go."

"Um…" Peter could only half-heartedly utter the filler syllable before he choked on it. A torrent of memories and feelings started flooding into his brain; memories and feelings that had just nearly been purged from the space they were now starting to occupy once again. It was a point of pride that he was desperately hanging on to that he wasn't yet slipping from his seat and curling into an anxious ball on the floor.

"Betty may try to come in, but she's currently in the middle of her philosophy final. Gwen…well, we probably won't be seeing her for a pretty long time," Ned sort of chuckled awkwardly, reaching over to pat Peter on the shoulder.

Michelle formed a worrisome wrinkle in her brow, like she may have actually been concerned. It definitely didn't help the situation.

He felt the muscles in his legs start turning to jelly and he slowly began to sink beneath the table, his face tinting to crimson, flush with embarrassment and regret. God help him, he really didn't need this right now.

"Wait, what happened with Gwen?" Michelle tried to whisper to Ned, even throwing a hand up to block Peter from reading her lips. It didn't help, of course. Enhanced hearing and all made it very difficult, even in a noisier environment like Ditko's, for anyone to not be heard by Peter. "I thought they were Midtown's ‘Ultimate, Destined-To-Last-Forever Sweethearts?"

That was the first photo he'd ripped up, along with any other picture of them in his senior yearbook.

"Well, they were…and then Harry Osborn showed up and snatched her away and…"

"And we don't like to fucking talk about it," Peter piped up, now sitting on the floor, the top of his hair barely visible from over the table. "Ned, when the next round arrives, I'd like to go ahead and put in for another; something stronger this time around."

Six months had passed since Gwen had walked out (or been pushed out) of their lives forever. He had finally gotten over it but here he was again. The old Parker luck strikes as if on queue. At least this time it was only girl trouble and not another…well, you know.

"I need to go to the men's room," he spoke up again as he crawled out from underneath the table, dusting himself off before shoving his hands in his pockets.

"What, like bourbon or something?"

"Vodka cranberry," he replied as he shuffled towards the restrooms, trying to appear less sulky. "I just want to forget about my feelings. I don't want to make myself throw up."

* * *

  
"Fuck, Leeds. Maybe inviting me out wasn't such a great idea."

Peter had left for the little boy's room maybe ten minutes ago. His beer was starting to get warm and the ice in his vodka cranberry had started melting and diluting what little alcohol was in it, to begin with. She couldn't help but feel at least fully responsible for his little freak-out in the fifteen minutes she'd been back in his life.

"He'll be fine, MJ. I probably should've filled you in on the whole Stacy situation," Ned rubbed the back of his neck, "I just was hoping it wouldn't come up."

She took a quick sip from her drink and fully turned towards Ned.

"Can you fill me in now? Keeping up with you is easy enough with regular texts and actually having a Facebook profile but, other than your secondhand information, Parker has been completely off of my radar."

Did she sound as pathetic as that last sentence she blurted out made her feel?

She wasn't wrong, she felt. It used to be so easy to keep track of Parker up until she left for school three years ago. Not that she was obsessed or anything. She was just…observant. They'd gotten so close after the Blip and the European vacation, and then Gwen Stacy showed up and she was pushed away, back to her little spot at the other end of the table.

"Things were going great between them until Harry transferred over from NYU and started hanging out around us, taking almost all of Gwen's classes with her. He used it as an excuse to go to her for tutoring and being study buddies. That and Peter's own…busy schedule," Ned winced as he stumbled over his own words, "sort of took up all of the time they had to hang out and be together."

He took a quick drink from his beer.

"And Harry took advantage of that, too. The two of them got closer, started spending less of their time together studying and more of their time, um," he drummed his fingers on the table, struggling to come up with the right words to say, "It was kind of a private anatomy class."

"Wait, Gwen was…she was canoodling with Osborn behind Peter's back?"

Ned took another fast sip, "Canoodling seems almost too innocent of a word for what they were doing."

It was MJ's turn to let her mouth drop and hang wide open in shock, her eyes almost bulging out of their sockets as she listened to Ned.

"Gwen ‘Practically-Fucking-Perfect-In-Every-God-Damn-Way" Stacy was fooling around with Harry ‘Daddy's Money' Osborn?!"

"I'll be honest, it's kind of weird that you're the one being a little bit louder than you probably should be and I'm the one talking at a normal volume," Ned chuckled in a way that people chuckle when something isn't actually funny. "But, uh, yeah. Peter came home early from class one night with flowers and take-out and found them in the middle of a shower together."

MJ's hand went over her mouth, struggling to find the right way to respond to what she was hearing that wasn't just more unhinging her jaw and letting it fall to the floor. To tell the truth, that hurt like hell.

"Wait, wait, wait: Flowers and take-out? Tell me it wasn't…"

"Our anniversary."

It was Michelle's turn to freak out at the surprise voice popping up behind her. She turned around, her heart rate increasing at the sight of Peter in front of her. His eyes were bloodshot, tear stains streaking down his cheeks. He was trying so hard to appear normal that it only made it worse for him.

"So, are we all caught up?"

"Sorry, dude," Ned spoke up, his voice nearly hoarse as he slid the watered-down vodka cranberry over to his best friend in the world, "I thought she might as well know."  
Peter slid back into his seat and picked up the glass, throwing it back quickly and finishing it off without taking a breath. It would be impressive if he weren't drinking for the wrong reason right now.

"It's fine. She was gonna learn about it eventually. Michelle Jones knows everything there is to know about Peter Parker," a stifled laugh escaped him as he picked up his just barely colder than room temperature beer. "She is particularly observant of whatever happens to be going on in my life."

She clinked her glass to his bottle and shot a worried smile in his direction.

"L'chaim."

He shotgunned his beer as though he were the mighty son of Odin himself, wiping his mouth on his already dampened jacket sleeve.

"I'm gonna go get another round and maybe a pitcher."

"Maybe you should slow down a little bit, Parker, huh? Nothing good ever came of overdoing it because of some stupid girl," Michelle said, putting a hand on his arm as he moved to get up.

He looked down at her hand and then back up to her face, his eyes still a pretty deep red.

"I thought you said you wanted to get shitfaced with us?"

Her brow furrowed again.

"Besides, it takes a lot more than the little bit I've had to get me close to where I'd like to be. You can ask Ned about my legendary tolerance levels."

"It's true. The first time we went out together, I was completely wasted before ten. Peter was still barely tipsy by the time we got home at three in the morning," Ned stated almost matter-of-factly. "He woke up later on and went on a five-mile run."

Michelle sighed, her hand still on Peter's arm. "Well, at least let me get this next round. You've paid for the last two."

Peter sat back down, pulling out his phone and fumbling around as she went to stand up.

"You both still alright with what you got or would you like to try splurging on yourselves?" She knew they were drinking on the average budget of the typical American college student, hence the cheap beer they'd relegated themselves to, but she had plenty of cash to throw around at the moment.

"If you're offering, I wouldn't mind trying a martini. Bond style," Ned responded first, a little more enthusiastically than someone who wasn't an absolute dork would have.

"I'll just do another vodka cranberry."

She'd find his moping more pathetic if it weren't so genuinely heartbreaking to see, knowing how he'd felt for Gwen since she first popped up at Midtown. She never figured it would end as it apparently had.

Of course, she never would have figured she'd find herself being this pissed off at Gwen, either.


	2. Salute Your Solution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this came out a lot quicker than I was expecting.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated.

It was an outrageously awkward situation, to be sure.

MJ is a stranger in a college bar at a school where she is not a student, visiting with a pair of friends from high school that she hasn’t actually seen since graduation, one of whom had inexplicably given her the silent treatment after she’d left town. Then, just as an embarrassing cherry on top of her whole uncomfortable sundae, she’d brought up his ex-girlfriend and caused him to have a sudden panic attack.

This night was going _swimmingly_.

“Yeah, can I get a vodka cranberry, a gin and tonic with lemon and lime, and a Bond-style martini?” She was struggling to make eye contact with the bartender, her eyes scanning the bottles on the back shelves.

“Just a regular, dry martini, Wally,” a voice chimed in from right next to her. “I’ve told Ned at least seventy-three times that shaking is just going to chip the ice and give you a weak cocktail.” It caught her by surprise, but the short, blonde girl that she turned around to find standing next to her and referencing _The West Wing_ was a welcome sight.

“And you can go ahead and add a Dark n’ Stormy to that order for me,” Betty said, sliding her card across the bar top.

“I was…I was actually supposed to get this round.”

She was quick to raise a hand to stop her protest, finally turning to meet her gaze with her usual, radiant smile plastered across her face. “Let me grab this one, MJ.”

She pulled her into a tight hug, released her, then pulled her back in for another long embrace after giving her a quick once over.

It was awkward. But it was that nice kind of awkward that makes her sort of adore Betty Brant.

“It’s good to see you, too, Betty.”

The smile disappeared from her face as she let go, matching the dour look that MJ was unaware she was currently sporting.

“Did Ned fill you in yet? I figured he was probably sending you a play-by-play of what was going on,” she had seen him look down towards his phone every so often, giving what she assumed were texts to Betty a review after typing them out without looking.

“He did,” she sighs, leaning back into the bar, “I’m so sorry, MJ. I meant to tell you about everything that went down between Peter and that blonde witch but I got caught up with school and my internship.” Betty took the drink being handed to her, too distracted to realize it was actually a vodka cranberry and not the Dark n’ Stormy she had ordered, and took a quick sip. “I know it’s a terrible excuse, considering it’s been almost six months since everything went down…”

“It’s fine, Betty,” MJ waved her hands in front of her, “nobody owed me any sort of explanation. I only wish I‘d known so I could have steered clear of the topic.”

Somehow, Peter Parker had been able to avoid any sort of social media presence altogether for some reason she was completely unaware of. It was unfortunate for a multitude of reasons, mostly because she wasn’t able to keep up with one of the few people she considered herself close to after he’d basically shut her out of his life.

(Also because Peter was definitely the type of dorky introvert that would constantly post movie quotes and song lyrics to vaguely describe his mood, and she secretly loved that kind of thing.)

“I just hope he’s okay,” MJ looked over her shoulder, back towards their table. Ned had slipped over to sit with Peter, trying to talk to him before he could completely shut him and the rest of the world out. “Maybe I should go. I don’t think I’m the best person for him to be around if he’s not doing alright," she sighed. "I really don’t want to exacerbate things.”

“Don’t you dare think that way, Jones,” Betty stated as she gave her a quick nudge to the arm, “Just grab your drink and we’ll go over there and we’ll fix him up as good as he has been.”

* * *

“Come on, buddy,” Ned was leaning in a little closer, keeping his voice at a nice and low volume, “We’re here for a fun night to let off some steam and I’m not gonna let you stay down in the dumps.”

He wasn’t sure when, but at some point, he had thrown his hood up over his head and was having a lot of trouble trying to not stare at the empty bottle he was holding in front of himself. If he was trying to not look like he wasn’t sulking, he was doing a bang-up job.

He was just glad he wasn’t crying.

“I know, dude, I’m sorry,” he strained through his brooding, “It’s just that when Michelle said her name…it all sort of came flooding back again.”

Peter thought superheroes always looked cool when they brooded.

“Nobody had said her name in so long and it made it easier not to even think about her. Then, she walks in and brings her up and, all of a sudden, here I am. Being a massive killjoy.”

Peter couldn’t imagine himself looking very cool right now.

“I won’t say you’re not being a killjoy, Peter,” Ned put his arm around him as he spoke, placing hands on both shoulders and gently shaking him, “But I’m not going to blame you and get upset because you’re sinking back into your depression. I’m here for you. Betty will be here for you.”

This was making it a little bit easier to take his attention away from the bottle.

“And I know you’re not her biggest fan anymore, but even MJ’s here for you.”

He set the bottle down and turned toward his friend, giving him his best attempt at a thankful smile and patting the hand on his shoulder. Smiling was hard right now but Ned needed to know that he was actually helping, just like he had been these past few months.

“Am I being an asshole?”

Ned’s eyebrows scrunched tightly in confused concern, not really sure what Peter meant with that question or why he would even ask.

“I’m not trying to be, I just really wasn’t expecting to see her, like…ever again,” Peter twisted back, his hands coming together on the table, his concentration locked on his twiddling thumbs, “and then she shows up tonight and acts like the same old Michelle. It really threw me off.”

“You’re not being an asshole,” Ned pinched the bridge of his nose, stifling another anxious chuckle. “You’re just uncomfortable. I’m sure MJ is well aware that there’s no malice in your awkwardness.”

Well, at least there was no intentional malice. Despite how things went down between them and how far they’d drifted apart, Peter would be the first to tell her he didn’t hate her. He didn’t even dislike her. At worst, he was indifferent to her. Either way, there wasn’t any bitterness on his part.

“Besides, she was worried she’d already fucked up royally after you left.”

Peter’s arms folded in front of him, gently planting his chin on his forearms and resting on the table. His hood stretched as far as it could go but was still tugged back a bit, pulling his swept-back hair with it. He felt a few quick, comforting pats between his shoulder blades before a bright red cocktail was set down in front of him.

“I found a Betty at the bar, guys,” Michelle’s voice sounded less (playfully) spiteful than it had when she’d first shown up. “Do you think we could keep her?”

It almost sounded affable. With a hint of affectionate worry.

Ned shuffled out of the booth and stood up to greet Betty, giving her a sweet little kiss before taking his drink from her hand and sliding into his original seat. Michelle shifted and slid next to but an agreeable distance away from Peter.

“Sorry, babe, but they don’t have any actual martini glasses here so they put it in a highball glass,” Betty threaded her fingers through Ned’s and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “But they did give you some extra olives.”

“Aww, that’s okay, sweetie,” he gave her hand a squeeze. “Just as long as it’s,” Ned put on his best Sean Connery impression, “shaken. Not stirred.”

It wasn’t a very good impression.

“Peter, please put this down as number seventy-four in the book,” Betty spoke, calm, cool and collected. Peter quickly pulled out a small, spiral-bound notepad and flipped to one of the pages in the middle, it’s faded white paper covered in tally marks.

“Pumpkin, ‘shaken-not-stirred will just get you cold water with a dash of gin and dry vermouth. The reason you stir it with a special spoon is so not to chip the ice.’”

Peter saw a small, pride-filled grin spread across Michelle’s face from the corner of his eye, knowing full well that she would have been the reason Betty had fallen in love with _The West Wing_.

“’James is ordering a weak martini and being snooty about it,’” they both finished the quote in unison.

He flipped back in his notebook, to one of the first lists he’d ever started keeping and marked one more tally down, not stopping to think about how long it had been since he’d actually flipped to that particular page. It would’ve had to have been at least a year.

Ned rolled his eyes and let out a quick pfft before taking his first sip, squinting his eyes and looking up to the ceiling as if he were contemplating a piece of art. He slowly set his glass back on the table and shook his head.

“It turns out that martinis are not for me.”

Peter let out what he could only assume was a chortle as Ned slid the glass into the middle of the table, waiting for one of the three to take it.

“You guys can fight over it. I’m not much of a martini girl,” Michelle threw a quick look between Peter and Betty, taking a sip from her own drink. “I know Betty has some catching up to do, but, if your tolerance is legitimately legendary, Parker, maybe you should take it.”

“I actually know for a fact that Betty can stand the taste of them, so I will concede this one to her if she would prefer,” Peter replies and pushes the glass over to her as she nurses her own cocktail.

He can feel himself start to be released from the melancholy that had been hanging over his head for the better part of the last thirty minutes.

Betty scooped the glass up from the table and slammed it back like a shot. Michelle’s eyes went wide in shock, not used to her friend’s propensity for alcohol consumption. You can learn a lot of things at an internship. Her surprise actually caught Peter’s attention and drew a quick laugh out of him.

Ned’s hand went up, waving back and forth as he tried to flag down a server.

“So, MJ,” Betty took another sip from her Dark n’ Stormy, “how have things been in Boston?”

“Oh, y’know,” Michelle followed with a big gulp of her own drink, her shoulders slumping as she mulls over her way to respond to her friend’s question, “it’s been pretty awful.”

Her answer, much like anything she often said (or did), served to catch Peter off his guard.

“Too many classes, too much homework, unbelievably high levels of stress, no friends, and not enough time for any of the usual hobbies,” she had started counting the reasons on her fingers. “I can’t remember the last time I was able to go to a decent protest.”

_Did he just hear her say ‘no friends?’_ he couldn’t help but think while she kept talking.

“And it’s enemy territory, so I can’t even wear a Yankees cap ironically without the possibility of getting jumped outside of the bars,” she laughed. “Plus…or minus, in this case, I guess, Boston is not-so-secretly one of the most racist cities in America, so I get a funny look every now and again.”

Michelle was trying to laugh at what she was saying, but he was stuck on the fact that she had just said she was friendless in what was essentially a foreign city to where she’d grown up.

“So, all in all, I’d say I’ve had the three most miserable years of my life and they’ve all been spent at the school I’d dreamed of heading off to since I was six,” she struggles to laugh at the irony and looks down to her nearly empty drink before finishing it off. “I’m not sure what I did but karma is punishing me for one reason or another.”

The waiter could not have gotten to their table soon enough.

“Could you bring us a round of beers, a gin and tonic with lemon AND lime for Michelle, a Long Island iced tea for Betty, a highball for Ned, and I’ll take a rum and Coke,” Peter rattled off the drink orders, catching everyone by surprise. “Michelle, what was in that shot you got for us?”

“Uh, tequila…”

“And, fuck it, a round of tequila shots. All on my tab. Peter Parker. Please, and thank you.”

“What kind of beer did you want?”

Peter had a tendency to forget that, in real life, you couldn’t just walk up to a bar and generally ask for ‘a beer.’ Film and television were always lying to people.

“Just something basic is fine.”

“Actually,” Betty spoke up, almost hesitantly, “If I could do a hard cider instead of a beer, that would be great.”

Nobody else chimed in, so the waiter took it as his opportunity to nod and bow out, almost sprinting back to put in the order with the bartender. Peter, when he was in this mode, could be a little bit more intimidating than his usual, modest self. He would lose his easy-going nature as soon as he had a goal set out in front of him and the intent to see it through.

“What time is it?” Ned was trying to find his phone, failing to notice it was sitting on the table right in front of him. “And, Jesus, dude. I know we’re trying to unwind, but you’re on a warpath.”

Peter held up his drink as if he were a knight of Camelot offering a toast to the rest of the round table, and looked around at his compatriots for the evening.

“It’s ten minutes to nine, Ned. The band will start setting up in little over half an hour. That one food truck you like parks behind the bar at eleven.”

Yup, Peter was definitely on some sort of crusade.

“I may not be able to get there with you, but you three are going to decompress, let loose, forget about your worries and your strife.”  
Now he’s quoting a Disney song. There will be no stopping him.

He tips his vodka cranberry back and gulps it down, once again without pause, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. Betty follows suit with what remains of her Dark n’ Stormy. Michelle just kind of stares at him.

“Aww, you guys,” Ned looks down to where a drink would be sitting in front of him in faux-despondence, “now I feel left out.”

“Where the hell did that come from, Parker?”

He turned and faced Michelle, mustering as sweet and sympathetic a smile as he possibly could.

“Because both of us are miserable and I think we’ve earned one night of being drunken messes. Because Ned and Betty have had a stressful semester, partially because they were taking care of me, and deserve a night to wind down and enjoy each other’s company without our gloomy asses bringing them down. And because we could all just use a damn good time.”

She contemplates what he says for a moment, breathing everything in.

"Alright, Parker," she smiles and holds up her glass. "Cheers.”


	3. Let's Dance to Joy Divison

‘ _You don't drink for the taste_ ,' the wise words of Aunt May repeated over and over in his head as his second shot of tequila in less than an hour slid back and down his throat.

Unfortunately, due to his enhanced metabolism, Peter couldn't really drink for the honest reason.

_Thank you, irradiated spider bite._

The thought was only partially sarcastic, in the sense that ninety-nine percent was still technically part of a whole.

He looked around as the rest of his friends reacted in their own, personal way to the burning taste of the liquor as it hit their tongues and worked its way into their systems. Michelle shook her head, her tongue sticking out as she winced. Ned pounded a fist into the table three times, his eyes shut and his lips puckered. Betty was completely unshaken, biting into her lime wedge and giggling at the rest of them.

Sometimes Betty had her own special way of scaring Peter and the way she could down tequila (or any other alcoholic beverage, really) while remaining completely unfazed was one of her superpowers.

"Alright, alright, alright," Michelle absent-mindedly quoted Matthew McConaughey, chasing her shot with a sip of beer. "That ought to do it for now."

"Yeah, I'm gonna have to agree with MJ on this one," Ned interjected, nursing his own longneck, "let's maybe slow down for a bit before we get too crazy."

Betty was hesitant to take a break, knowing her own tolerance far surpassed everyone but Peter's, but she let go of any urge to protest that point when she noticed how dizzy Ned was already starting to look. He wasn't a lightweight by any means, but he wasn't really used to anything harder than the cheap light beer he and Pete had been stuck drinking for the past few months. Tequila is not at all kind to anyone not used to the effects of hard liquor.

"No objections here," Peter quipped, taking a quick drink from his glass.

"Are you even feeling anything yet, Parker?"

He turned to face Michelle as she leaned towards him, pointing at him with an accusatory bottle and squinting like a TV cop trying to break a tough-as-nails perp.

"A slight buzz, but it's mild at best," he lied through his teeth, his tolerance playing havoc with his desire to numb his unease. "Nowhere near where you're at, obviously."

"And nowhere near tipsy enough to dance, either," Ned pronounced out of nowhere.

He could feel himself starting to blush as Michelle perked up, looking malevolently interested in the can of worms Ned had drunkenly opened.

"How sloshed does he have to be to make that a reality?"

His hands shot up in protest. When plans were being made for the evening's activities, neither Ned nor Betty had brought up the likelihood of even breaking out a simple two-step. The very idea of embarrassing himself on a night when he was only trying to relax and unwind made him tense up.

"Oh, trust me, MJ," Betty intervened like the angel she often was, "Peter has only ever gotten drunk enough to dance maybe twice that I'm aware of. Dancing Peter is basically an urban legend."

Peter felt a heavy weight fall from his slowly relaxing shoulders, thankful to whatever deity or force of nature holding sway over the universe may have still been looking out for him. It was enough that he had to deal with international masters of disguise and near-indestructible crime bosses on a regular basis, but the thought of making a fool of himself in front of Michelle Jones (again) would have been too cruel.

"I mean, it's not like we don't have plenty of time to get him drunk before the band starts playing," Ned declared once again, polishing off the highball in his hand.

Peter's jaw dropped and his eyes popped open as wide as he'd ever thought all three could, the look of disbelief mixing with horror as he turned to face his best friend. He never thought he could form this sort of anger towards Ned, not after everything he'd done for him. It was bringing everything that went down between Tony and Steve into perspective and making it easier to understand how it all went down between them.

_I wonder if Quill's offer to take me off-planet for an intergalactic joyride is still on the table…_

"Relax, Parker," Michelle chuckled as she finished taking another sip. "Nobody is gonna force you to drink for our amusement." She gently slid his glass closer to him as a peace offering. "Despite the rumors, I'm not actually a sadist."

Another sigh of relief escaped him as he settled back into his seat, leaning his head back into the worn leather upholstery of the old booth.

"As if dancing would be the most embarrassing thing you've ever done in front of me anyway."

Even Peter had to laugh at the implication, knowing full well the small number of incidents she could possibly be referring to. He was, if nothing else, a walking disaster in high school.

"Yeah, well, I'm not looking to give you anything more to add to your carousel of sidesplitting memories," he turned slightly, taking his glass in his hand. "Not that I've ever really had much of a say in how badly I trip over my intentions," he whispered to himself.

"Did either of you happen to catch who was on tonight's billing?" Betty spoke up, laying her now empty glass to the side and picking up the bottle of cider next to her.

"Just another Empire State University garage band," Peter replied, back to nursing his rum and Coke.

Ned brought out his phone, opening up whichever app would bring him the answer he was looking for and scrolled around for a good minute before finally finding it.

"The Pork Chop Express," his smile matched Peter's, both knowing a _Big Trouble in Little China_ reference when they heard it. "According to their website, they're an anarcho-punk slash indie-alternative slash anti-folk outfit from Bushwick. Influences are all over the place."

_Thank you, once again, mysterious entity in charge of running the universe._

There was almost no chance a band that described itself in all those very specific ways would be the type of musicians to make him end up drunkenly dancing. Peter went back to happily sipping his drink, realizing he may have actually grown accustomed to the taste in the last three-quarters of a glass. The large amount of cola involved in the mix may be doing his taste buds a small service.

"So, the dynamic duo get a Carpenter reference and Jones gets a few subgenre boxes ticked off," Betty muttered, finishing off her cider. "Now I feel left out."

Poor Betty always seemed to be the odd one out whenever she got "stuck" hanging out with Ned and Peter as one of the few normal people the two of them regularly interacted with. Now, throwing Michelle into the mix, she's completely over-powered by the anti-typical non-conformity. One could easily forget, seeing her with the three of them, that Betty Brant was once a stand-out in the social hierarchy of the Midtown School of Science and Technology.

"They got hired to play at Ditko's on a weeknight, honey," Ned mentioned, "I'm sure they aren't going to be too offensively unorthodox than to your liking."

"Yeah, look," Peter held up his phone, the band's site now pulled up on his browser, "their main influence is Talking Heads. You loved the stuff I've shown you by them."

"Couldn't be worse than the stuff I played sometimes at decathlon practices and study sessions," Michelle chimed in.

"I'm not saying I wouldn't like it," Betty replied, taking a drink of cider, "I'm just not sure it's gonna be exactly the kind of music I would want to listen to when I'm trying to relax."

Peter wasn't sure he could blame her for that.

‘Indie-alternative' gave them a fifty-fifty chance they would have a laid-back sound. ‘Anti-folk' slightly tipped the odds in their favor. ‘Anarcho-punk,' however, threw the entire equation for a hard loop, leaving him in entirely the same boat as Betty.

"Let's at least stick around, give them a chance," Michelle put in her two cents, "and if they come in here like the Murder Junkies, I will be the first to walk out. Agreed?"

Everyone nodded, holding up what remained of their last round and meeting in the middle of the table, a resounding *clink* signifying their accord.

"Wait," Ned looked around at the other three, "who are the Murder Junkies?"

* * *

She was loving it.

They'd only been playing for about twenty minutes but everything they'd put out in that time had been a pure masterpiece of sonic bliss.

Even Betty was into it, swaying to the softer side a lot of the greater population were unaware punk even had and loosening up when they kicked into a nitro-fueled, anti-establishment banger, dancing like the madwoman she'd buried deep in her soul. She wouldn't be going near the pit anytime soon but MJ was glad to see her old friend experiencing a new sound and relishing it.

Leeds was standing off to the side with her, content with keeping his girlfriend company while she took it all in and found a part of herself she didn't know was there. Every so often, he'd show her a move that was "appropriate" for the music she was learning to enjoy.

Parker, though, was right next to her in the middle of a small crowd of people and not giving a fuck as to how he looked. Despite his typical mild-mannered demeanor and his casual dorkiness, Peter was pretty hardcore when it came to his taste in music. They'd formed a silent connection back in high school when she noticed he was listening to FIDLAR a little too loudly in his earbuds during a study session. She'd been pleasantly surprised to find out that they actually shared a few favorite bands in their personal top tens after she brought it up at lunch the next day.

Sure, both she and Ned had to explain a small number of times (twenty-seven, but who was counting) the distinct, not-at-all-subtle differences between AC/DC and Led Zeppelin, but Peter had no trouble distinguishing The Buzzcocks from The Jam or The Germs from Agent Orange.

He wasn't even a little bit tipsy, despite his poor excuse for lying earlier, and yet there he was in the middle of the floor with her, not even ten feet from the stage, dancing like he was alone in his room.

"Thank you guys so much for coming out tonight, we are The Pork Chop Express and this song is by another local band called the Ramones!"

The smile on Peter's face grew even bigger as the drummer counted off, already starting to bounce up and down, his voice joining a few others as the band chanted "LOBOTOMY!" in unison. She caught herself when she realized that her own voice wasn't a part of those chants, her attention wrapped up by how happy he looked.

_Oh no._

She wasn't ready for this. The past four years had hardened her to the point of forgetting about that silly little schoolyard crush and she'd be damned if it was going to come back now because of a cute smile and a Ramones cover.

MJ refused to fall back into old habits so easily.

She focused her attention back towards the stage, concentrating on the band as they played, which wasn't at all difficult to do with Peter in her peripheral view.

They made for a decent distraction, the time passing by with each original track they'd show off with before treating the crowd to a cover. She danced and swayed to the sound, taking in every aspect of the show they were putting on, feeding off of the crowd's energy. It wasn't until the bassist announced a ten-minute break in their set that she realized they'd been on for an hour.

"Did you wanna go grab another drink?"

Once again, Parker had caught her by surprise and, by the look in his eyes as she turns around, he knows it.

"Christ, Peter, you're gonna give a fucking heart attack if you keep this up," her hand clutches her chest as she regulates her breathing.

"Sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you," his hands flew up in front of him, the sincerity evident in his eyes, "I just, y'know, wanted to see if you could go for another round?"

"I wouldn't say no to a scotch and soda."

"Switching it up?"

"I figure three ‘gee and tees' is enough for one night," she can't stop smiling at him. Why can't she stop smiling at him? Does she look as ridiculous as she feels right now?

"Might as well try something new while we're drinking ourselves silly, wouldn't you agree?"

He looks like he wants to laugh but he stops himself, digging a hand into his pocket and pulling out his phone to check the notification that just stole his attention.

"I do agree but, uh," his eyes flutter as he reads the screen before he winces, continuing to answer her with a twinge of regret in his voice, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck, "I'm sorry, something just came up and I've, um…I have to get going."

She follows him as he walks back over to the booth where Ned and Betty had relocated, already holding a fresh glass of something alcoholic in their hands.

"Sorry, guys, but I'm gonna have to duck out early. Karen just texted and she needs me across town," he says, grabbing his heavier jacket to throw on over his hoodie. Betty is standing up to give him a quick hug. Ned stays put in his seat, taking his own phone out of his pocket. "I'll see you guys at home, but don't wait up. I don't know what time I'll be done."

She isn't sure what to do in this situation. Give him a hug? A handshake? Of course, he doesn't even give her a chance to make the decision.

"It was nice seeing you again, Michelle."

He's out the door before she can even respond.

_Yeah, it was nice to see you, too, Parker._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to quickly point something out: There is no such thing as 'appropriate' when it comes to dancing at a punk show. Any true punk worth their salt will tell you that 'appropriate' is a bullshit term. Dance the way you feel like dancing. Anyone who tries to tell you how to dance is a fucking poser. Hence the quotation marks from MJ's perspective.
> 
> Once again, any and all feedback is welcome.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	4. Color in Your Cheeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit shorter because it's been a busy week, but hopefully, you still enjoy it.

"So, who's Karen?"

If she had meant for the question to sound innocent, she had crashed and burned in her pursuit. It used to be so easy for her to hide behind a nonchalant tone when a normal person would sound jealous. It used to be.

"She's a dispatcher of sorts," Betty chirped in response, still chewing a bite of the burrito bowl from the food truck outside, "for the Bugle. Peter is taking photos on a freelance basis and Karen is his point-of-contact with the office. Anytime something newsworthy is going on in the five boroughs, she alerts Peter."

"Wait, so he's back to taking pictures again?"

MJ had been around for what she thought had just been a phase in his teenage years. Parker had stumbled upon his uncle's ancient relic that many archaeologists referred to as a ‘camera' during him and his aunt's post-Blip move. He and Ned spent that spring break getting it back into a decent working condition, then worked a few odd jobs to save up the cash to buy actual film. For some reason, the school still had a functioning darkroom, so he'd even learned how to develop them himself.

Half of the trip to Europe was spent snapping amateur shots of everything they saw, at least when he wasn't running off to do god-knows-what.

"Never gave it up," Ned answered, nodding as he poured hot sauce over his rice. "He's even getting a minor from all of the courses he's been taking for the last few semesters." He replaced the cap on the now near-empty bottle of hot sauce and placed it back on the counter before continuing, "Betty got him the freelance job after he moved in with us, just to bring in some cash flow to help with bills."

"I take it he moved in with you guys after..?"

"After ‘the night Gwen Stacy died,' yeah," Betty sullenly finished MJ's sentence before taking another bite. "The lease was under her name so, when Peter left her, he had to vacate the premises."

"He was on May's couch for about a week before we finally offered our spare room to him. I had to give up my command center but he was worth it," Ned added. "He didn't even want to ask us; took Betty another week to convince him that taking the subway and buses to class instead of living within walking distance from campus was a terrible way to spend his junior year."

"And there was no way that boy was going to get a decent place on his own with his dismal excuse for a credit score."

Her heart sank a little for him as they recapped the past few months, knowing that the old Parker Luck never could seem to give Peter a fucking break. Has the universe not done enough at his expense that it couldn't lay off him for a little bit?

But then, she supposes, he wouldn't be Peter Parker anymore, would he?

Anyone can be kind and earnest when things are going their way but only someone truly amazing could take as bad a beating as life would often give him and still get right back up and try to help a little old lady across the street in a matter of seconds.

"Must be terrible for you Betty," she plays it off with a wry smile, "having to live and deal with the two of them on a daily basis."

"I can certainly say that I've been part of more conversations involving _Millennium Falcons_ and xenomorphs than I ever thought I would," Betty answers, "but it hasn't been so bad."

She smiles as Ned leans over and puts a gentle peck to her cheek before taking a bite of his food.

MJ stopped looking at them, choosing to instead stare at the hot Cuban sandwich in her hands, rapidly cooling in the cold winter air. She was delighted for both of them but seeing happy couples out in the wild like this could send her into a jealous depression. Her own experiences had made her bitter towards people that could actively function in the romantic world without falling for the wrong person or messing everything up.

"We can go back inside if you're ready, MJ," Betty was better at catching onto body language than Ned ever would be. "No need to stand out in the cold when there's a perfectly warm bar right there."

She tore her eyes away from her sandwich and looked back up to her friends, shaking off the doom and gloom feelings that had started overtaking her and let a small smile replace the frown that was sitting on her face. It wasn't her place to ruin her friends' good time.

"Are we okay to bring food in from outside?"

"So long as we're not throwing it at anybody or making a mess and keep buying drinks," Ned chuckled, scarfing down one of his street tacos as he headed back towards the side entrance, "they don't really mind."

"Plus it keeps the staff from having to take and make food orders behind the bar," Betty followed behind MJ. "Any time they don't have to turn on the ovens and fryers is a good night for them."

"It's bad luck to order food at Ditko's anyway," Ned continued, "especially during finals week."

The bar was more crowded than when they'd walked out to grab food but their table towards the middle of the main room was still unoccupied. Ned set his styrofoam container down to reclaim it, loosening his heavy jacket off of his shoulders and tossing it into the booth.

"I'll go grab another round for you guys so you can keep eating. Requests?"

"Get me a vodka on the rocks with plenty of olives," Betty gave him a quick kiss, gently cupping his cheek and looking him right in the eye. "Maybe you should just grab a water or a Coke?"

"Just a scotch and soda for me, please and thank you," MJ settled back into her seat, leaving her coat on and taking another bite from her Cuban.

Ned gave them both a nod before turning and wading into the small crowd that surrounded the bar.

"So Boston is really that bad, huh?"

Her eyes shot back over to Betty, a worried look clouding the blonde's usually-shining smile as she absent-mindedly stirred the rice, beans, cheese, and chicken around in her bowl. She could feel her shoulders tense, knowing that without Ned sitting next to them, her friend wasn't going to willingly drop the subject before she got a satisfying answer. MJ was not going to get out of this one with sarcasm.

"I'd been building it up so much in my head since the fourth grade; getting into my dream school, getting out of New York for a few years, finally taking my life in my own hands, and making myself useful to the world," she sighed, her fingers drumming against the table. "I was antisocial all throughout high school. You and Ned and, for a little while, Parker were all the friends I thought I needed."

A lump had started growing in her throat. She could feel the tears trying to well up in her eyes.

"It was easy at first, after everything that happened senior year, to just pack up, leave town, and start a whole new life," she forced the lump back down and brushed her cheeks with a sleeve. "My first semester was going great. Good grades, nobody bothered me, I read a lot…"

Another lump started to form.

"Second semester, I started to realize that I wasn't being bothered because nobody talked to me. Not even my roommate. I'd been in Boston for eight months and I hadn't made any friends," she could feel a tear streak down her cheek. "I was completely alone," her voice shook.

One of Betty's hands moved to her forearm, her fingers wound tightly over her wrist and radiating a comforting warmth as she smiled through her own misty eyes.

"You remember me in high school..."

She wiped her face again.

"I didn't have many friends because I didn't think I needed them, so it wasn't an issue. I never even questioned it. I didn't see the need for them if I was going to be gone after four years," her voice was soft now, emptied of its usual conviction. "And then everything that happened in DC went down and then we all missed out on five years and we came back and-and-and everything changed. I needed you and Ned and Peter and everybody else in my life at that point."

It was tough for her to admit but, now that the dam had burst, she couldn't stop herself from spilling her guts to the friend in front of her.

"Then, senior year happens and everyone I thought I needed, except for you and Leeds, got pushed or pulled out of my life for one reason or another and I broke down," it took everything not to fully break down in front of Betty right now, "and I spent that summer building myself back up. I got over everything and took back my old ‘rough exterior' façade."

She picked up her sandwich and forced herself to take another bite, even if food was the last thing she felt like she needed at that point.

"I got to college and it worked, better than I expected, because I just became ‘that chick with a serious case of permanent resting bitch face' across campus. I started using books like a drug again, the way I used them before the Blip," she stopped when Betty snorted out of nowhere, thinking back to when MJ could always be picked out of a crowd with her nose buried into the spine of a book.

She couldn't help but laugh along with her, the pain of her college experience, as it had been to this point, dampened by the memory of her high school self's habits.

"It looks like I missed out on some sort of breakthrough," Ned appeared almost out of nowhere, their drinks in his hands and a worried smile across his mouth.

"Yeah, you just missed the closest thing I've probably had to some much-needed therapy in the past few years," she takes her glass from his hand and wipes the tears from her cheeks one last time. "But Betty is now bound by fake doctor/patient confidentiality. You don't get to know what I just shared."

Betty gave her a wry smile and a wink before popping a booze-soaked olive into her mouth and scooting over to let Ned into the booth.

"And neither does Parker."

* * *

_Three hours later..._

He'd taken a beating tonight that he would pay for in the morning but he wanted nothing more than to crawl underneath his sheets and fall asleep until nothing but the pain woke him up. 

His head was pounding, his body was sore, and there was a sharp pain in the middle of his chest where Gargan had caught him with his new tail, but he was so close to home. Their little place in the Village was just across the street now and he had his bedroom window in his sights. 

"Karen, go ahead and upload any good shots we got now so I don't forget," he landed with a small impact just across the street. "We don't want Mr. Jameson getting upset that he has no pictures of Spider-Man's activities tomorrow."

"Of course, Peter."

He launched himself over, sticking to the side of their building and just beneath his bedroom window.

"Make sure it's unlocked for me," his hand moved up, hearing the short mechanical switch in the lock above him, giving him entry to his room. "Thanks, Karen."

He shuffled up the wall and in through the window, removing his mask and tapping the symbol at the center of his chest, wincing and cursing to himself as he accidentally brushed against his wound. The suit loosened as he took a few more steps, shaking it off completely and throwing it into a hamper as he walked through the dark towards his bathroom.

One flip of the light switch later and he was at the sink, staring at himself in the mirror.

It had been a long time since he'd looked quite as fucked up as he did right now, a long slash stretched across his upper chest, multiple small lacerations highlighted by splotchy, yellow bruises, and a small trickle of blood running down from above his right eye.

He was too distracted to notice the girl in her pajamas he'd woken up on his way in now standing behind him, rubbing her eyes.

"Peter," his eyes blinked and went wide as Michelle spoke groggily, still half asleep, "what the fuck happened to you?"


End file.
